A Voyeur Story Gone Right
by Evangeline-Sibeliah
Summary: Have you ever wanted to read/watch a story about a voyeur picking a woman who won't freak out and kill him once she finds out? Imagine a voyeur, played by Jeffrey Dean Morgan, who meets his match, a woman compatible with his courtship disorder and interested in him as much as he is in her, played by Mia Kirshner.
1. Part 1

**A Voyeur Story Gone Right – Part 1**

"Excuse me?" A young man's voice penetrated the sound of his hand-held sander. "I'm sorry, I got a call about a rental here...?"

Max sighed and paused the machine for a bit. A man had no chance of getting the appartment anyway.

"It's not ready yet," he didn't even bother taking off his dust mask.

But then, he heard a female voice from behind the man.

"Look, the ceilings are even higher than we need... And god, look at the view..."

The woman came forward, so beautiful, maybe a little too young, in her early twenties it seemed, but so beautiful. Dark hair and blue eyes behind glasses, perfection in her face and _everywhere_, as if she just stepped out of a classy movie, but better because she was real and that made all the difference in the world. He never even dreamed about having someone this beautiful this close.

She was an arm's length away from him, looking out the window. He could see every detail of her delicate face: dark arched eybrows, a cute nose, a rather small but plump mouth with a beauty mark just above her upper lip...

"Best view in the building if you ask me," Max hurried to tell her. No, don't push, be calm, act normal.

"I'm sure you're right. You have no idea how much I need a view like this in my life."

"Why is that?"

"I spend most of my days inside, working and studying over the internet."

_Oh Lord yes, _Max thought. Inside all day long! She had to have this apartment.

Now don't mess up.

"Are you the super?" she asked. When she looked at him, he got goosebumps. There were grey specks in her blue eyes; so much to discover... He studied her surgically applied eyeliner and peach-colored lip balm, assuming that she must be a perfectionist, a woman of good taste who knew what she wanted.

She blinked to sever their eye contact and wake him up. Did she know he just got lost in her eyes? Did it happen to her often?

He gave her a shy apologetic smile: "Owner, actually. Max Higgins," he wiped whatever sweat gathered on his nervous palms and offered her a handshake. Not too long, not too tight, don't mess up!

They introduced themselves as Danica and Blake.

"My family bought the house in the 40's. I'm just renovating the floor myself because I take care of the building," Max explained.

While Blake did a test walk over the floorboards, looking for creaking, Danica eyed everything around her including Max, making her own assessment before asking about the rent. For a moment, he panicked – what if these two young people couldn't afford it?

"Thirty-eight hundred," he blurted a number.

"You serious?" they both exclaimed and exchanged a suspicious look. Only then did Max start worrying whether they were a couple.

The boy asked: "What's the catch? Some train tracks we don't know of? A night club in the building?"

The girl followed: "Infestation? One bathroom per floor?"

A small smile crossed his lips.

"No, the place is clean and the utilities are separate. You're right about the train, the F line gets a bit noisy. It also takes a lot to heat a place like this in winter and the AC is pretty weak in summertime." He watched the two communicate in nods and winks. They were definitely planning to live together, but they didn't seem to be dating – there was something fishy about this Blake character, he couldn't quite put his finger on it. "Yeah, and the cell phone reception is bad and the TV signal drops out from time to time."

"That's ok, we have the internet for everything nowadays," Blake said with a flamboyant hand wave. Max decided that this man was most probably gay. The last time he met a homosexual in person was during his military service so it took him a while to get to that conclusion. His grandfather would be furious that Max even let him inside the building.

They started looking around the place.

"Blake, look the balcony! The railing detail, Margie is gonna love it!"

While analyzing the color of Danica's voice, Max slowly realized what she just implied.

"How many of you would live here?" he frowned.

"Well, technically five: Me, Danny here, Venus, Hope, and Margie," Blake did the countdown.

"Is that a problem?" Danica asked.

"No, no, it's not that," he gave her another shy smile and she seemed to like it. "It's just that there're only two rooms, a kitchen, and a bathroom."

"We've got that covered," Blake took over the conversation again so Max had to look away from Danica, otherwise he would've appeared like a creep. Do what the normal people do, Max. "The other three girls wouldn't be here all the time and for them, we have this special three bunk bed that Hope's parents built for us, a custom-made structure with stairs and everything – that's why we need high ceilings."

"I prefer no pets," Max remembered.

"Blake's our pet," Danica joked and Blake giggled.

Yes, most definitely gay.

"The heaters bang loudly in the morning," he offered Danica a key to the apartment. "You can start moving in whenever you want, I'll go through the paperwork as soon as I get it."

The touch of her hand made him weak in the knees and her smile made him grin like an idiot. He was already falling in love. So quick, Max, always so quick. You have to be careful.

**#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica# Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#D anica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#**

Max got to see the complete Jackson five of his new tenants during the moving. Heavy lifting was done by Blake who was actually pretty fit, Margie who was rather butch, Venus's boyfriend who probably _lived_ in the gym and Max because he offered his help. Danica and Hope carried boxes while Venus held the door and played with her i-something, which again told Max something about their characters.

Max's grandfather August introduced himself and expressed his wishes that the young people won't be too loud, after which he creeped away.

The highlight of the day was when Max and Danica moved a mattress together.

"So, I checked out the recommendation from your previous landlady," was the conversation opener Max had been preparing since last night.

"Mrs. Dennehy? I always wondered what she'd write in the end. She was nice enough but she never said one honest thing, always just pleasantries."

"The feedback was positive – I liked that part about you guys never missing a payment. She seemed concerned with Blake's _promiscuous ways_, though," Max chuckled.

"I knew it!" Danica gasped dramatically. "But yeah, this five-way system I put together works out great. Blake and Margie work full-time – Blake even has two jobs; Hope and I have a job alongside our studies; and Venus is sponsored by her parents. Thirty-eight hundred is actually a bit less than what we paid before, so it won't be a problem."

"It was you who brought you guys together?"

"Yep. I know the girls from high school, we graduated the same year. Blake I met about five years ago, just as he had run away from home and arrived to New York. We had a lot in common, including our struggling with the rent, so I came up with this co-living system and the rest is history."

"You girls are twenty-five and he's twenty-three, am I right?"

"Oooh, someone's been reading our social security information very attentively," she teased him.

Shit, keep it together, man. Give her an innocent smile and shrug it off, there, did that look alright?

**#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica# Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#D anica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#**

Once all the paperwork was done, Max was out of excuses for turning up at Danica's doorstep. He wondered how long he could go without seeing her. He didn't last a day. He opened the secret door in his bedroom's closet and sneaked through the tight space between their apartments to _watch_.

She did indeed spend most of her days inside, with her laptop on. Whenever he saw her with earbuds connected to her computer while doing her nails or something like that, he knew she was attending an online lecture. She did her school assignments at her writing desk and her cyber censor job (whatever that is) on her bed.

She also spent a lot of time doing yoga, dancing around the room, moisturizing her skin, flossing, doing her hair and makeup and other high maintenance rituals. And yet, she wasn't doing it for a boyfriend, she seemed to be doing it for herself. Every day, she took pictures of herself – a sweet one and a seductive one – and posted it somewhere online.

"You self-obsessed bitch," Blake teased her from time to time and she only gave him a smile or a wink. Max didn't know what to think about it.

It took him a couple of weeks to figure out their roommate dynamic. Blake worked two jobs, getting home late in the afternoon on weekdays and sleeping in on weekends but disappearing practically every Saturday and Sunday night. Venus stayed Monday through Wednesday for her acting classes, Hope studied somewhere else and came just for her weekend jobs, and Margie arrived irregularly, whenever a job appointment brought her. That left Max with only two nights a week when he had Danica more or less for himself: Thursday and Friday. He loved those nights because sometimes, Danica would watch an erotic film and then masturbate on top of her sheets.

He didn't look at first, of course. It wouldn't be polite, she was a lady and he didn't know her that well yet. He just listened. He looked away when she dressed and bathed, too, for now. But in about a week or so, he would be ready to see her topless. Pacing it was a good method, he found, because it slowed that wonderful process of falling in love that always burnt too quick and too hot in him.

When Max found out that all her friends call her Danny, he was upset. Such a game changer, and he already dreamed about her as Danica! If only this was the only surprise, though! Two weeks in, he realized that the doctoral program she was undertaking was forensic psychology. And during the third week, he overheard a conversation in which she admitted that her special membership website where she posted her pictures existed for a sole reason and that was gathering information about stalkers!

"I'm starting to think that the whole thing is pointless," she complained to her gay best friend. "I mean, they're paying me some solid money to be able to see those pictures and read my journal blabber, but none of them answered the questionnaire like a real stalker would."

"A real stalker?" Blake asked for specification.

"Stalkers as we defined them in class. So either the whole definition doesn't apply anymore, or it's as I always thought: the information age is turning us all into stalkers. Which means that this whole project was pointless. I can't use any of it for my dissertation, any of it!"

"You could research this new generation of stalkers thing...?" Blake wondered out loud.

"If I studied general psychology, maybe. But this is forensic psychology, we're supposed to write about real mental deviations that can get you to jail, not just porn addicts and trolls..." Danica sighed.

These discoveries made Max nervous to the point of throwing up. Danica was perfectly equipped to figure out what he was. He was scared, he was anxious, and for some reason, he was excited. This must be fate. She built a safe fictional character on the internet in order to be followed and then complained that it wasn't real enough. At the same time, she rented his _special_ apartment. Despite the trepidation inside him about being discovered, Max found himself circling around Danica like a moth around a flame.

**#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica# Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#D anica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#**

It was Friday night and to Max's disappointment, all five tenants were in Danica's apartment, dressing up and talking about some gallery. And she was coming, too! Something came over him when he saw her donning that beautiful 50's dress; he just had to go after her, even though he hated the streets and hated the crowds and hated gallery viewings...

He sneaked out and followed them. He merged into the faceless mass of gallery visitors. Then he came closer. And a little closer. Carefully, like a bird of prey, he approached the five friends that were surrounding one painting.

"I think it looks great," Danica shrugged. They exchanged opinions passionately. Max decided to 'accidentally' bump into one of them, not Danica, that would be just one more thing to be suspicious about.

"Oh, so sorry, did I – Blake? I didn't recognize you!"

The group ooohed and aaahed at the coincidence.

"Help us here, Max. What do you think? I really like it," Danica gratiously included him in their conversation.

"Umm, the picture? It's... nice, I guess... Original...?"

"The picture – oh that's a god awful piece of crap for sure. We're talking about the frame Margie made for it. She does ornamental metalwork."

"The frame! I like the frame," Max gave her a sweet smile and she smiled in return.

Luckilly for him, he didn't have to stick around awkwardly for too long. Blake brought their attention to a young man entering the gallery and the five gasped.

"Who invited him?" Venus asked with venom in her voice.

"He's gonna make a scene again, isn't he," Margie groaned.

"Not if I sneak out," Danica said. "My duty is done here, right? I've seen them and I love them," she rubbed Margie's shoulder. "I wasn't looking forward to being the only sober girl at the wrap party anyway."

"It's alright, I release you. But you're not going home alone," Margie decided. All her roommates made a face at the idea of walking her and tried to persuade each other to go until their eyes landed on Max.

Perfect.

"I was gonna leave soon myself," he offered innocently.

"Then it's decided!" Hope clapped her hands gleefully. She mouthed something at Danica who just rolled her eyes.

"Let me guess, your ex?" he asked about the dreaded man once they left the gallery.

"Yeah, we met in class. The break up was really nasty and since he knew a lot of people at the university, he decided to use his influence to get back at me."

"That sounds vicious."

"To his credit, I did break his heart. But then, his public shaming campaign got so big that the teachers found out and expelled him, which is just one more thing to be bitter about."

"Is that why you study from home?"

"Yep, they offered me a special deal so that I could avoid the campus drama. I told them that I would love to use the situation to study bullying, but for some reason, they didn't like the idea."

"Wow," Max chuckled awkwardly. _Such a fighter_. "So, did he leave you alone?"

"Not really. But he did give me another idea for my dissertation."

"And that was...?"

"Stalking."

Max's palms began to sweat again.

"He's stalking you?"

"Not right now. I don't go to school and he doesn't know my new address yet."

"Did you guys move because of him?"

"Umm-hm. Blake and Venus couldn't take the nightly visits and creepy gifts anymore."

"Not you?"

"You kidding? I struck gold. They basically banned me from finishing my research when we moved."

"So... What's your dissertation going to be now?" Max felt like walking on burning coals.

Danica winced.

"Cyber stalking, I hope. I have this whole website set up just for the purpose of collecting data, with a discussion forum and questionnaires and all... It's hard to tell after only three weeks, but... I hope it's gonna give me something."

"You're really high tech," Max tried to change the topic when he noticed a pearl of sweat gathering at his brow.

"And you're rather low tech, I presume?"

"Yeah. This whole internet thing has never really grown on me. People showing everybody everything about them, it sounds so desperate for attention and yet impersonal. I don't think relationships should work like that."

"You seem to be more on the antisocial end of that spectrum..."

"You could say that," he admitted with a shy smile. She always gave him positive signals when he smiled.

"Then what brought you to the gallery tonight?"

"I just... Felt like getting out," he lied and hoped that she couldn't tell. "August has been very sick lately and I've been taking care of him, and tonight... I just needed some fresh air."

"So you put on a droolingly flattering open neck white shirt and went to a gallery full of hideous paintings?"

Max's blush covered up for the fact that he had no answer.

"Venus thinks that you followed her. She always likes to think that she has a new admirer."

Max laughed out loud: "No offense, but that girl's a little..."

"Nuts? Well let's ask someone who _studies_ the nuts," she stabbed her finger in the air. "And yes, she's overly confident, bordering on delusional, but that's not the point here."

She was waiting for the rest of the explanation.

"My parents used to go to that gallery before they died," Max lied again. If only his family knew. "It used to be tradition. And thirty, fourty years ago, the paintings there weren't all that bad."

"Oh."

"So... Why forensic psychology?"

She gave a dry chuckle.

"All psych majors have one thing in common. Either they're slightly messed up themselves, or there's someone _really_ messed up in their family. Or both." The tone betrayed that she considered herself the latter case.

"I take it there were no parent-of-the-year awards on your mantelpiece at home?" he probed.

"Something like that," she had no problem discussing it. Max noticed that she never contacted her parents. "Mom and dad, they were both psychos in their own way. Dad for doing what he did... And mom for taking it. They used to tell me it was my fault; so I watched other kids at the playground, at school, everywhere, comparing them to me and calculating what was normal."

She used to watch other kids? She used to do _watching_. Maybe even became a psychologist because of it.

"Of course it wasn't your fault."

"I know. Everybody is responsible for their own happiness. It was actually good for me to learn that lesson so early on."

"You have no unfinished business with your parents?" Max wondered out loud.

She was telling him things he'd never know just by _watching_ her and he was sucking it all in, eager for more. He needed to know who exactly Danica was – and every little secret threw him in a different direction but one thing was constant and that was her reaction to the blows life gave her. Without becoming a fatalist, she got over her grudges with ease, either by using the attacks for her own benefit or by...

"No, I'm fine with never seing them again. Especially after what I did when I finished high school. I stirred things up real bad before I left town."

Revenge. Oh, Danica. He'd never fallen for a woman this tough and this self-aware before. Max admired the control she had over her life and her feelings. He could never be this cold about his thoughts. He could never be this clinical about his heart.

They arrived to her door.

"Nice talk, though I took up most of it towards the end. Sorry, I tend to analyze everybody, including myself."

"It's alright, it was really interesting, Danica."

"Call me Danny."

Max nodded. She had no idea how much she was asking of him, after he had memorized everything about her under the name of Danica...

When he realized that she was saying goodbye by kissing his cheek, it was too late and Max wasn't expecting it and he was just so nervous he sort of... shied away.

Danica raised an eyebrow to indicate her surprise.

"Okay then, good night," she disappeared behind her door before he could come up with any words.

Damn it. Shit. Shit. Why did you DO THAT? She was just going to - - and you moved away like she had cooties or something! You blew it! What's she thinking now, you God damn looser, huh?!

He went to his room to bang his head against a wall.

**#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica# Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#D anica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#**

He tried to knock on her door about a dozen times after that but the anxiety in his stomach was so bad he could never do it. He punished himself with really really hot baths, just like his grandfather used to punish him until Max joined the army.

He _watched_ her every night, even when the others were there.

"Maybe we could invite Max," said Hope one day as her, Blake and Danica were getting ready to go to the movies.

"I'm not sure he'd appreciate our pick," Danica made a face.

It wasn't much, but it still stung that she'd shoot down the idea this quickly.

"I saw the way he looked at you, Danny, he wouldn't care what movie he'd be watching, trust me."

"What, could you read it from his chi?" Danica teased her. Hope studied theology and was very into New Age, which as far as Max understood made her something between a pagan and a hippie.

"Come on, Danny, he likes you..."

"I know. The first time we met he did that 'you're so pretty that I can't focus on what you're saying' thing, so I know."

"Then what's the problem?"

"There is no problem. A woman without a man is not always a woman with a problem, Hope."

"So you want to be alone?"

"I'm comfortable being alone. I've done the math – every relationship I've had so far ended because I'm a self-absorbed, cold-hearted bitch and they weren't impressive enough to keep my interest. The guys complained that I didn't love them enough and I complained that they were too clingy. I'm focused on my studies and when I don't do that, I'm focused on myself. I don't have time for boyfriends."

"But Max is not a boy. He's a man. He's probably used to his lifestyle as well and I'm sure he'd give you your space. It wouldn't have to be fixed-schedule dating anyway since you live and work in the same building. And you won't want to be alone forever, one day, your biological clock will scream for a family..."

"You know my opinion on kids, Hope," Danica groaned.

"Who says you're gonna hate kids forever? Maybe you'll grow a maternal instinct with time."

"My decision to never have kids is purely intellectual. I don't have patience with them. I would never devote all of my schedule to something that's disgusting, then dumb, and then defiant and ungrateful. And look at me, I'd rather get an abortion that give some poor kid a mother like me."

Danica finished her hair with a touch of spray and looked at herself in the mirror in contemplation, not knowing that she was looking Max right in the eyes as he was sitting behind it in his secret corridor.

"But come to think of it, I've never been with a guy outside of my peer group," she noted.

"So you do admit that there's an attraction!"

"Uh, have you _seen_ him in that white shirt?" Danica snarked and the girls giggled.

That night, they made another step forward.

Not that Danica invited him, because she didn't – she said she wouldn't want to pressure Max into anything social that was this last-minute. But once they left for their midnight premiere, Max decided to visit her room.

He did all the usual: going through her stuff, writing down the contents of her library, caressing her clothes, lying in her bed, sniffing her pillow... He found no box with memories, no photoalbum and no journal – if she had any, she probably kept them on her laptop. My god, he was going to have to learn how to use computers if he was to keep up with her! When the time came for their very first indirect kiss, it didn't feel as climactic as it usually did. While using her toothbrush, he couldn't stop thinking about the kiss on the cheek that he botched last week. This visit was by far not as euphoric as he'd hoped. He sprayed a touch of her prefume on himself and left.

Danica, Blake and Hope returned from the movies; they went straight to bed and fell asleep as if dead. Max realized that maybe this was supposed to be the climax of the night – him and her spending the night in the same room. Proud that nothing in the apartment gave a single creak, he sneaked out and got under her bed. At one point, her hand flung over the edge of the bed and he could actually touch it. There it was. Euphoria.

**#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica# Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#D anica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#**

It took him three night dates with the bottom of her bed while she was sleeping to gather up the courage to see (not just _watch_) her again. He picked the best wine he had and put an innocent dose of August's sleeping medicine in it – so little that he was pretty sure cheaper wines had exactly this effect on one's body. Well, maybe cheap wine and shots.

He wasn't being too eager, was he? He just wanted to know the feeling of lying in bed next to her, he promised himself he wouldn't do anything more. Just this once. Or maybe he should wait, because if she accepted his apology, he may actually get to touch her the normal way some day.

But that would be so much waiting...

"Hi, Danny," he forced himself to use the nickname once her door opened.

"Max!" Her eyes went wide and then, she smiled. But the door chain was still there.

His smile fell.

"Oh, sorry," instead of letting him in, she joined him in the doorway. "Sorry, it's a little messy inside. Blake just got dumped," she mouthed the last words as an explanation.

"Oh. I just wanted to... apologize for being so weird last time I walked you home. You know, antisocial and all – I make even the simplest things awkward sometimes... Know what I mean?"

"Sure, and I wasn't weirded out at all. My friends are pretty tactile people and it obviously rubbed off on me, sorry about that."

"No, it wasn't - - I didn't hate it or anything, I was just surprised." Max shifted nervously. "I got you something."

"Well thank you! Should I drink it with Blake tonight or would you like to be there when I taste it?"

"I was, I was thinking we could have dinner at my place and have it with the meal, perhaps?" It took all his will power to get that sentence out there.

"Oh, tonight? I really have to be with Blake tonight. But how about tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow's great," Max smiled with amazing relief and some giddiness.

"Alright, at six?"

"At six," he just repeated what she said, making sure it was real.

"I'm looking forward to more talking, I'd really like to get to know you better," she told him promisingly before she shut the door. He could hear the door chain coming on. When did she start using the door chain? A couple of days ago?

Suspicion pierced his cloud nine and he rushed to his secret corridor. He found them in Blake's bed, Blake hidden under the covers with tissues and Danica sitting on the edge, texting. It took him a minute to realize that they could be texting each other. And if they were, either it was some quirky BFF habit he didn't know of or they knew they were being watched in their apartment – by him.

**#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica# Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#D anica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#**

She went to town the next day. With the wine. She hid it well before she transferred it into her backpack, but he knew it was the wine because he hadn't moved from his observing spot behind the wall all night. After she left, he burst into her apartment, walked from room to room like a tiger, forced himself to calm down and then started investigating. What changed?

He found only one misplaced thing – a tazer tucked inside her nightstand. He knew she carried one in her purse, so what was it doing here when she was out? And then he took another look and realized the tazer was completely new.

Completely new. In her nightstand. She felt unsafe in her bedroom. She knew.

She knew.

She knew she knew she knew.

Max started pacing again.

She knew she knew she fucking knew!

After a few minutes of hyperventilating, Max started asking himself the important questions. She was a smart woman. She studied guys like him. What would she do? Did the police already know? What have you done to me, Danica? To this messed up middle-aged perv who owns the house you live in and who can creep into your bedroom anytime he wants? Is my life as I know it over, Danica?

No police so far. Maybe tonight, during dinner? But why even have dinner? Unless she was...

Gathering evidence.

He searched the whole room but found no cameras. Then he remembered how her laptop was stationed over the last few nights: open and aimed towards the bed. Max was pretty sure there was a webcamera in the top frame of her computer. But she took the computer with her.

His fate was in her hands.

**#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica# Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#D anica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#**

She knocked on his door after six.

He looked through the peep hole (of course he did, hah, hah) and found her dressed up, hair, make-up, accessories matching with her glasses frames and everything. All for him? He'd never seen her in that bellow-the-knees 50's skirt before, was that her date skirt? Max was confused. Back and forth he paced in front of the door. His eyes landed on the door chain.

How ironic.

The door only opened as much as the door chain allowed it.

"Hey," he rasped.

"Hey Max, sorry I came a little late, I didn't know if I was supposed to come here or if you wanted to pick me up... What's wrong?"

"I uh... I must've caught some virus or something, been sick to my stomach all day. I don't want you to catch it."

"Oh, that's terrible. Rain check, then? Also, I could do the groceries shopping for you and August if you want."

"Listen, Danica... I won't see you anymore. I'm sorry for everything... I'm sorry..." He hoped she got the message. Please don't show anyone the evidence you have on me. Please forget that I ever existed. I'm so sorry. I promise I'll never _watch_ you again.

"I don't understand, did I do something wrong?"

She seemed sad. Why? What did she want?

"I really want to talk to you, Max. I want to know all about you, I swear I have an open mind..."

Oh. Oh, that's what she wanted her evidence for. Not the police. Her school work. She wanted to study him. _On Landlord Voyeurs_, he imagined the title of her dissertation thesis.

"I don't think that's a good idea," he ground out.

"But why? I like you, Max..."

He shut the door before she could say more things she didn't mean. He hated it when his girls lied to him, it was the only thing about them that could make him upset. He could take the ugliest truth, but when they lied... He just hated it.

"Max!" Danica was still behind the door, determined to finish her research this time.

Max felt tears in his eyes.

**End of Part 1.**

**Author's Note:**

**1.** In my head, Danica is played by the lovely Mia Kirshner, the only actress I know of that causes ladyboners to even the straightest women. I'd love to see what you think about her character – I wonder if her being not conventionally likable somehow affected your reading experience.

**2.** Some of the scenes of Max watching Danica are deliberately creepy. If you didn't feel the creepy vibe, you might wanna be extra careful in picking your boyfriends. While I made sure to make Max a non-violent person, his idea of developing a relationship with Danica without her awareness and of intruding upon her privacy at all times is really unhealthy. Also, there's one thing that makes him potentially dangerous – his reaction when he knows he's being lied to.

**3.** This should be a three-shot.


	2. Part 2

**A Voyeur Story Gone Right – Part 2**

He managed to avoid her for two weeks. Then came the day when he had to get rid of that mold in the old reception booth on the ground floor. He put on his breathing mask and worked away, ignoring everyone who passed by him including a set of beautiful legs that stopped right behind him. Danica observed him in silence for good five minutes. Watching. He knew her exams were starting so she had to go to school at some point. He gritted his teeth and didn't look at her until she left.

She came back four hours later, just as he was cleaning up – but she wasn't alone. Max froze.

"This where you live now, huh?"

"Goodbye, Eton."

"Are you dumb? _Goodbye Eton, Goodbye Eton_, you've told me ten times today but here I am. We're not done until I say we're done."

"Actually no, that's just your inner desperation for control speaking. We're done because I'm applying for a restriction order. Thanks for making a scene at the campus today and for following me home, by the way, it's gonna come in handy. Goodbye, Eton," she started closing the heavy entrance door on him.

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?!"

Max's head snapped up in alert as the stranger forced his way into the front hall. He vaguely remembered his face from the gallery – the face of Danica's ex-boyfriend.

"You love to see me like this, all fucked up because of you, you even love that I made all my friends hate you, you love the gifts, you love the threats, you just love all that attention, you sick bitch!"

Right then, Max's protectiveness won over his shyness. He came up to Danica and took a stand behind her. He couldn't find any good intimidating words, so he just gave the man a look of warning.

"I believe you're trespassing, Eton. On his property," Danica included Max for him. "This is going to sound so good in front of the cops. Does he look aggressive to you? I'd say he looks aggressive..." Her back touched Max's chest as she leaned back to look up at him. Still not knowing what to say, he just gave her a nod.

"You guys fucking or what?" Eton meant this as an insult, but when Danica only smiled in response, he seemed to be hurt and disgusted by the insinuation. In order to rub it in, she leaned against Max completely.

Max's heart was pounding in his ears. His palms were sweating again.

"I'd keep my hands off of her if I were you, man. She's only gonna break you, suck you dry like a vampire. She's one selfish slut."

"Walk out that door. Now," Max finally growled.

Reluctantly, the young man left. Danica released a shaky breath.

"Thank you."

She turned around and looked at him, standing so close, staring right into his eyes, and knowing what he was. He felt so uncomfortable. He wanted to crawl up into a closet somewhere.

"I would like to talk to you."

His throat tightened. He knew he was going to hyperventilate soon. _I'm not a freak_, he needed to tell her, _I'm not a psycho_. He wanted her to know this so bad, even though he decided to never see her again, he at least wanted her to know that. But he just couldn't get it out...

"Or maybe I should write you a letter?" Danica mused after observing his panicked reaction. "I'll write you that letter. I'll slip it under your door tonight, ok? Again, thanks for standing up for me," she gave him a smile and touched his face in what was probably supposed to compensate for a kiss on the cheek that she would give him if he was a normal person.

**#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica# Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#D anica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#**

_Dear Max, although you know too much about me already, I cannot help but think that I owe you an explanation._

The letter was written in hand on a perfumed paper as if she knew that he would keep it and read it and smell it in the future, no matter what their outcome would be.

_You must be curious about how I found out; and rest assured that until about three weeks ago, I didn't suspect a thing. Except for wondering how someone so charming can be so shy, I never got any unusual vibes from you. As a matter of fact, I felt rather safe when you walked me home. But then, one day, I came home and some of my things were slightly off – not in their place as much as in the angle of their placement. (You might've noticed that I'm strangely meticulous about that.) Blake kept joking that we had a ghost in the apartment, so we set up our laptop cameras in hope of some Paranormal Activity reenactment._

He didn't get the capital letters. Was that a movie?

_What I found was you, Max. I studied the tape over and over and when I was sure you were attending to August, I even found the door to your observation passageway. From then on, I could subconsciously feel you watch me._

Oh no, she found all the peepholes. And the mirror! The feeling of shame was almost unbearable. He wished she knew that he didn't use the mirror fully until he knew her a little better.

_A few more days and two of your nightly visits later, I came to a conclusion that you, Max, are one of the last oldschool voyeurs. A dying breed, one could say, in the age of informational technology. And just as you were fascinated with me, I became fascinated with you. I didn't stop to ask whether you would care for that, and that was my mistake. In the end, I came off too strong, my excitement drove you away. On the other hand, I am so glad that there are no more secrets between us and, while aware that I will be most probably rejected, I can present you with my proposal._

_I am offering you a controlled environment for your watching, perhaps even interactive watching if you'd like, in exchange for anonymous interviews for my thesis research. This may sound like a cold-hearted business transaction, but I see it as a meeting of two people who match each other in their untypical needs and wishes. _

_If you promise not to pressure me into anything, not to touch me unless I allow you to, and never to slip me any drugs (not even a slightly spiked wine, Max – there are forensic labs at my university, you know), I will happily let you watch me, spend time with me, and if you bear with my atrocious pillow-hogging, even occasionally sleep in my bed. As for the other part of the deal, I hope that our interviews would become a pleasant part of us getting to know each other instead of an uncomfortable chore. _

_Blake made me promise to let you know that the second our relationship would become aggressive in any way, we are packing our things and moving immediately, going as far as breaking up the group and leaving New York if necessary. But my uneducated guess is that it would never come to that. I am willing to put my trust in you, Max. Are you willing to put your trust in me?_

**#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica# Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#D anica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#**

Like a moth to a flame, was it?

Max red through the letter repeatedly until he memorized it all, putting emphasis on his favorite passages and making it sound much more passionate than it was: _I felt rather __**safe**__ when you walked me home... wondering how someone so __**charming**__ can be so shy... just as you were __**fascinated**__ with me, I became __**fascinated**__ with you... a meeting of two people who __**match**__ each other in their untypical needs and wishes... I will __**happily**__ let you watch me..._

There was no point in avoiding his destiny. Danica was shining bright, her light penetrating walls and her warmth reaching him all the way from her apartment where she would keep living no matter if he told her yes or no. She was a flame – a beacon – a siren that lived next door. For the past two weeks it had been torture to walk by and not get consumed by her. His grandfather was always right; Max was a weak man. He couldn't say no to her anymore. He was hers.

Of course, being the social retard that he knew he was, he couldn't find a way to express this to her. He tried writing a note but he found his chicken scratch exceptionally repulsive that day. Finally, after rewriting the few sentences a dozen of times, he decided to deliver it personally to help explain what the note actually meant. He seated himself in the secret corridor and waited for the right time, but everytime she was alone, his nerves got the best of him and he froze, unable to move from his chair. He finally gathered enough courage when she went to sleep. Typical, Max, just typical.

He sneaked into her room, but this time, he felt guilty doing it. Well, more guilty than usual. He should just put the note on her nightstand and go. She moved. His instinct had him under the bed before he knew it. His stomach grumbled. He forgot to eat all day.

"Max?" Danica's voice turned him to stone.

Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no...

"Max, is that you?"

What should he do? He couldn't just run, she knew who he was! This was the worst moment of his life, he used to wet his bed while having nightmares about getting caught _watching_ as a kid... Grandfather always punished him on top.

"Answer me."

His throat felt like paper. He opened his mouth and nothing came. He couldn't.

"Max, please, tell me it's you... 'Cause I'm starting to freak out."

Not that! Women's fear always scared him, it made things so much worse, it made everyone lose control...

"I'm so sorry," he rasped, "I didn't come to – I just came to give you a note."

He heard a long breath of relief.

"Jesus, for a moment I thought it was some creepy stranger." When he didn't answer, she filled the awkward silence with more words: "I mean I do remember your breathing a little bit from your previous visits, but one can never be sure. Don't scare me like that, ok?"

"You were awake?" Max whispered in terror.

"Yeah, most of the times. I'm a light sleeper. My dad used to check on me in the middle of the night and sometimes he'd drag me out of the bed to talk shit about mom. I always wake up when someone's coming, that's why I have the separate room."

"You were up all this time..." Max was dying from shame. He was also a little miffed that she pretended to be asleep because pretending was practically lying. But mostly, he was dying from shame.

"So you came to give me a note?"

Max made a sound similar to uh-huh.

"Would you like to come up?"

Silence.

"Can I have the note, then?" Her hand appeared at the bottom edge of her bed, open and waiting. Not five seconds after receiving the note, she asked about a word she couldn't read.

"It's probably _respect_," he grumbled. He tried to write it better but it always looked like shit, all eleven times.

"Oh. I think we're getting you a cell phone, it would make our communication so much easier. Oh my god, that's what the dissertation could be! Introducing an oldschool voyeur to twenty-first century information technology and seeing which ones he picks up!"

And somehow, that was when their deal was struck.

**#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica# Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#D anica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#**

"The Max Shreck project, interview number 1, December 6," Danica spoke into a digital recorder, then put it on a table in what Max would always find an intimidating move no matter how sweet her smile was.

"How do you like your pseudonym, Max?"

"I don't know, it's fine..." Max watched the recorder, wondering if Danica's teachers would ever hear this and if they'd recognize the perversity just from his voice.

"So... You were born in the late sixties, am I right?"

"Yes."

"Your parents owned this house and you grew up here."

"Yes..."

"And then you went to war."

"The Gulf War, yeah."

"And then?"

"Then I took over the building from my grandfather."

"Not from your parents?"

"My parents – they died when I was very young, when I was four."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. Do you remember them?"

Max frowned: "I don't think that has anything to do with what I am."

"Of course not. This is just to map you out in general. You're not _just_ a voyeur, after all, there's more to you than your one courtship disorder."

"Oh," he shifted in his seat. "I didn't expect..." his eyes searched the room nervously. "I'm not sure I want to go there...today."

"OK. What kind of conversation are you ready for?"Danica improvized immediately

"About my...disorder," Max shrugged.

"You're right, let's talk psychology. There're a lot of terms we need to go through. Paraphilia, for example."

"What's that?" Max instantly hated the word.

"It's just another big word for sexual deviation. It's a box doctors created for exhibitionism, transvestism, pedophilia, zoophilia...anything that most people find abnormal and that is often punishable by law. Voyeurism belongs there. Do you think that's fair?"

"Of course it is, I'm not stupid," Max huffed. "But in my case, it's not about...not all about...you know..."

"Sex?"

"Yeah. It's more like you said before, courtship disorder. Could we use that instead?"

"Courtship disorder is just a paraphilia-related hypothesis so far, but I definitely agree with you, we should use that. Another term we could discuss would be agoraphobia."

"I know that one. I read up on that."

"That's great, what was your conclusion?"

"I think I have mild social agoraphobia. Going out makes me anxious and I do hate crowds, but I don't get panic attacks."

As they carried on, they came to a theory that Max's scopophilia (pleasure of watching) might be as strong as his scopophobia (fear of being watched), and that one may be causing the other as well as the other way around. They went through a typology of stalkers and agreed that Max was of course not a psychotic, nor a predatory stalker, but rather a self-aware one-sided intimacy seeker who liked to delude himself that the intimacy was mutual.

"I'd love to disect this part from various angles, actually, so I may be asking you about it again and again."

"The part about illusion and reality?"

"And the line between them, yes."

"I'm not a psycho, I told you. I know the difference. I know that it's only real for me."

"I always thought that there was a huge similarity between this and the modern crushes people have on celebrities. Me and my friends used to be obsessed with Leonardo Dicaprio, we spent so much time with his pictures and magazine interviews it made me feel like one day, he would for sure burst into the classroom and confess that he returns my feelings...There are huge differences, of course," she rushed to say as soon as she saw wild disagreement in his eyes. "The guy was far away and famous while your objects of affection are here and everyday women. Besides, the Leo craze was deliberately packaged and served by the media. You have no flattering profile pictures or romantic film trailers to guide you."

"Now, don't underestimate yourself..."

"You're saying there _is_ a connection?" She got him to answer exactly the question she wanted.

"Of course, beauty," Max cleared his throat. "And this, this essence that only some women have, this...Audrey Hepburn vibe."

"Are we talking pedestals?"

"I guess you would call it that. To me, it seems completely deserved."

"Deserved idealization? I don't know how much of me you've really seen, but I'm not perfect."

"You're...different. Very different from other women. You're unique. I just want to have the honor of knowing you through and through."

"Like I'm an American sweetheart, or the cool kid at school. Tell me if I'm heading in the wrong direction, but could it be that you project your self-worth into your affiliation with someone you idealize?"

Max mulled the words over in his head and then he slowly nodded.

"You nod yes," Danica remembered to point it out for the sake of the voice recorder.

Oh, for a moment he almost forgot about the damn thing.

"That conclusion suggests extremely low self-esteem, though."

Max nodded again.

"You nod yes?"

"Yeah, I'm aware."

"Would you care to-"

"Really, not tonight."

Danica recognized when to stop pushing and ended the session there.

**#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica# Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#D anica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#**

One day, Max always hoped, he would meet a woman who would show interest in him all by herself and they would get together the normal way. Like in a reversed fairytale, he waited for years and years in his stronghold for a princess in shining armor to find him, to break his voyeuristic curse and to bring true love to his life.

He was in his early forties now and his princess was morally gray to say the least. Their relationship development was also far from normal.

She said that everything had to stay the same for the first part of her follow-up study. So he _watched_ her and she didn't seem to acknowledge it. He did, however, fill in a form about his _watching_ habits every day and put it in a sealed envelope for her to assess at the end of her research.

In another interview, Max told her a little bit about his childhood: about the smell of his mother's perfume, her gentle touch, and her loving voice. Strangely, he didn't remember anything about his father, only what August told him. Max's memory of his likeness came solely from the picture in a newspaper article that said: _Husband kills wife, then shoots self_. How pitiful is that, huh.

"No photoalbums?"

"No, grandfather burnt them. He kept a few minutes of film, though. Of my mother bringing me a birthday cake."

She wanted to know about the abuse. What abuse? He played dumb at first. But she somehow knew. So he slowly revealed where August aimed his anger after the death of his only daughter. He mentioned the belt, the hot baths, the constant humiliation, the plans his guardian had to make a man out of him, a man just like himself.

"What kind of a man _is_ August?" Danica asked with a frown. Max politely told her to stop the interview there.

The status quo phase lasted a couple of weeks. Then, things started changing. Danica gave him a cell phone, "a simple little box with the most basic functions" she described it. He only used it to accept her calls and messages, not that he didn't want to contact her, he just never was one to successfully initiate a conversation over the phone.

She also showed him her website – its name was Bored Little College Girl and he didn't like most of it. He didn't like the lies in her introduction, he didn't like her fake journal entries and he hated her insencere flirtations in the comment section. He appreciated the pictures, though.

"You look real in them," he said when she asked why.

"I always took pictures of myself – I have a small obsession with documenting my life as it passes – I just never posted them online until now."

"That must be it," Max seemed proud of his instincts.

"And which is your favorite?" She was wearing an off-the-shoulder top and she shrugged the naked one. It was sligthly distracting.

"This one."

"A snapshot, of course," she laughed. "Tell me, would it be too conceited of me if I printed them out as a Christmas present for you?"

His eyes went wide with surprise, then he did the male equivalent of blushing and finally, he flashed her a shy smile: "No, that would be perfect."

**#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica# Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#D anica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#**

He jumped when his phone started ringing. Nobody had his number but Danica, so he eagerly picked it up. He thought she would be calling about tomorrow's Christmas lunch.

"Hey."

"Max," her whispering alarmed him, "Eton's here, outside my door."

"I'm there in a second."

"No, if it's ok with you, I'd like you to call the cops. Remember the restraining order? This could get him arrested. Don't spook him out," she whispered fearlessly, more like a hunter setting up a trap than a damsel in distress.

By the time police arrived, Eton was gone, but he left a Christmas present on her doorstep. _You're too curious not to open this_, said the tag. The officers took it to make sure it wasn't anything dangerous.

"It's probably just another dead animal," she told them, "he usually leaves a note with it saying something charming like _I saw this today and thought of you_."

"We'll take him in for questioning. If we find his prints or DNA on this, we'll take further action. We'll call you when we have him. Do you have anyone to stay with you tonight?"

"Yes."

With that affirmation, the policemen left.

"Blake is sleeping at his new boyfriend's place tonight. Stay with me?" Danica revealed the complication with absolute calm.

"Of course."

She gave him a satisfied smile.

They watched a movie. On her bed. He was nervous, mostly because he didn't know what she expected from him, but the darkness helped.

They were watching the main character stand up to his controlling father when Danica spoke up: "My grandma used to be just like that. The great matriarch that controlled everyone. I would've respected her, a lot, if it wasn't for her stupid bigoted opinions. Once I stood up to her, I became the black sheep, she made sure that the rest of the family would never take my side. But then she found out that I took after her more than anybody, because I gave as much as I got. I was seventeen when it started and I was eighteen when I left town. It was a very interesting year," she chuckled.

"One day you have to tell me what you did during this great exit of yours," Max smiled with her.

"How old were _you_ when you stood up to August?" She surprised him with her assumption. "You talked about the way he treated you like it was a thing of the past," she justified it immediately.

He scoffed. She could read him so well it was scary.

"When I came back from the war. There were things a soldier had to do if he didn't want to be the center of all pranks. Standing up for yourself just once usually did the trick. And when I came home with all that muscle and training and tattoos...I realized I didn't have to take it anymore."

They exchanged another smile.

"So...Tattoos?" She raised an eyebrow.

Max laughed: "Yeah."

"Where? Can I see them or do I have to buy you dinner first?"

She made him laugh a lot, actually. Lying on his side, he rolled up a sleeve of his T-shirt and showed her the cross below his shoulder.

"I've got a thing for crosses," he said shyly.

"That's a huge one," she laid her hand over it for comparison. The air grew thicker between them.

"I'm sure the ladies love it," she smirked, but the thought of other women made Max frown.

Suddenly, Danica pulled out a phone and typed something. His own cell phone beeped and he read the message.

_Would you like to sleep in my bed tonight?_

He couldn't look her in the eyes. He replied with a message as well: _Yes_.

They turned back to the screen to catch up with the plot – and they froze when the killer turned out to be a stalker. The movie flashed back to almost every scene, this time viewed from the stalker's hidden spot, and then the villain was killed.

"I swear I didn't know that would happen," Danica covered her face with embarrassment.

"I believe you, it just...Do you still want me to...stay?" Max became insecure.

"Yes!" she didn't hesitate for a second. "And tomorrow, during the interview, we can talk about how completely different you are from that character."

The bed was big enough for him to lie on his back and her to lie on her side while still having lots of space between them. They chatted about the stories they loved as kids, be it books or TV shows, and they went on to compare the stark differences between the times when they were growing up.

"Jesus, I could be your dad," Max sighed.

"You're 42, right? So you'd have to be a real frisky teenager first, and I know you weren't," she made him fall asleep with a smile on his face.

Max woke up early in the morning and found Danica's face on the edge of his pillow, framed by her arm as if she was in the middle of stealing it for herself. Yet again, he felt something tugging at the corners of his lips. He observed her sleeping face for a good half hour. She was so beautiful, not just the youthful kind of beautiful, she'd still be a classic beauty in thirty years.

Then he heard Blake sneak in. Blake, the other person who knew what Max was – if he could never face him again, Max would be happy. He left through his not-so-secret corridor.

**#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica# Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#D anica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#**

Christmas lunch at Max's place. Was it a first date? It felt like a first date. Of course he was nervous, so nervous.

Rather than annoyed that he disappeared before she woke up, Danica came excited to finaly see where he lived. She was shocked when he told her he was making turkey, even though it came with the information that they had to wait another 40 minutes.

"I haven't had turkey for so long! Oh, can we do the presents before it's finished, then?"

"You don't wait till the morning?"

"Please, I cancelled that tradition years ago. Look, this is what I'm getting from Blake and my roomies this Christmas." She showed him a vintage Polaroid camera.

He wasn't exactly mentally prepared for unwrapping their presents in front of each other, so he was awkwardly quiet through most of it.

"A hair dryer! Mine just broke a week ago!"

"Yeah, I know," he mumbled. She dispersed his embarrassment with a cheeky grin.

"I love practical presents. Or to be honest, I hate stacking up useless presents out of courtesy."

Max filled in what she wasn't saying: _Because it's in my nature to get rid of unwanted things. _He wondered if she'd get rid of him when her thesis was finished.

"There's a, there's also something on the bottom of the box," he cleared his throat anxiously.

She found the hair pin.

"I uh...I noticed you wear your hair like this a lot when you go out," he commented on the bun on her head.

"It's perfect," she sighed. "Trust me, it's so hard to meet my taste. And it looks genuinely old...?"

"Yeah, it belonged to my grandmother."

"Oh my god," her jaw dropped.

He hoped she wouldn't do the whole I-can't-accept-this dance.

She didn't. She put the pin into her hair bun, walked over to him and turned around.

"Like it?"

"Yeah."

"My turn," she brought him her present and _sat onto his lap_.

His throat made an unidentifiable sound of surprise. "Right," he remembered to unwrap the present. It was a small photo album with her pictures, just like she promised. And then, there was a square-shaped picture frame.

"What's that for?"

"For us, if you feel like it," she pointed to her Polaroid.

He hated it when people took pictures of him. But she wasn't forcing him, nor was she holding the camera and pulling the trigger – he was.

"Smile or no smile?" she asked him to direct her.

"No smile. Okay – small smile."

She hugged his neck and snuggled closer to him for the picture.

He would love that photograph forever.

**#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica# Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#D anica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#**

After lunch, they had just enough time for their third interview before she had to leave. (Her Christmas Eves were apparently reserved for Blake - they had this whole replacement family thing going on.)

They started by sharing their thoughts about the stalker movie cliché. While listening to his deep soothing voice, Danica laid down on the sofa across from him, curves lifting and settling as she was making herself comfortable. The sight and the way she hummed to encourage him to tell her more were too much; the flow of his speech broke up and changed into awkward clusters, which of course she noticed.

"Am I making you nervous, Mr. Shreck?" she asked.

"No. A little."

"By lying down? Am I seducing you?"

"No, I ah...I know you're just relaxing. It's just that I'm used to _watching_ you like this, not talking to you like this."

"Is _watching_ and talking at the same time impossible?"

"Yes. When I..._Watching_ is...It takes up all my senses, my whole brain, all of me. I can't do anything else when I _watch_. When I talk to people, I have to make sure to sound normal and look normal and say all the right things so...Just now I was trying to do both, that's why I sounded like a moron, sorry."

"Is that why you were staring at the ceiling while you were saying this?" She said explicitly for the sake of the voice recorder. "Look at me, Max. Tell me exactly how you can tell that I'm not seducing you right now."

Max allowed himself another dose of that sight: her penetrating eyes framed by luscious eyelashes, and her gorgeous naked shoulder making its way to her chin, asking for attention.

"Actually, I'm not sure about that anymore," he frowned.

"That's because I did my eye thing and my shoulder thing," she smiled triumphantly.

"You did that on purpose?"

"Of course. My god, this is amazing," she seemed very pleased with her good little voyuer. "You can tell which of my body language are real signs – not many men are able to do that, Max, not even those who claim to be normal."

"I observed and learned."

"But here comes the big question: If you're not delusional about my body language, when does the delusion about two-sided romance come in?" It came like a freezing shower.

Max compared it to fantasizing about being a part of a movie one's watching.

Danica brought up the way he advanced on the scale of need for informational intimacy, then physical intimacy, and then presumably sexual intimacy. He didn't know how to explain that.

"Well, at what point did you start visiting me in my bedroom?"

"After I walked you home and you kissed me."

"On the cheek," she clarified for the record. "Would you start visiting me if I never did that?"

"...Probably. Sooner or later."

"And if I didn't find out, how far would you go with this?"

"Not too... I'd never hurt you, Danica. I just want to be close to you, I wouldn't r-r-..."

"Breathe, Max..."

"Hug you, maybe, I would hug you and sleep with you in my arms, maybe stroke your hair...Not more, never, I'm not like that creep from the movie. Do you believe me?"

She went to sit on the edge of his armchair and reached for his hand, which she wrapped in hers and laid in her lap.

"So you're trying to surpress the typical voyeuristic possessiveness."

"I try so hard not to want more. I know what's wrong."

"What if you asked me out and I said no?" she asked softly.

"I'd stop bothering you. I'd just _watch_ you."

"Even if I had a boyfriend? Or worse, what if I brought the boyfriend over?" Her proximity and the touch of her hands provided a well measured reward system, coaxing him into answering her uncomfortable questions.

"I wouldn't _watch_ that...I can't do that, it hurts too much. I bolt the door to the corridor when that happens."

"You've really done that? That shows a great amount of self-restraint. Not many voyeurs are capable of stopping like that. You've really done this every single time your object of affection had another man?"

He really didn't want to answer, but her soft fingertips felt so good on his palm and then, good Lord, she put his hand on her bare knee and started drawing comforting shapes on the top of it.

"Two out of four times. I only made that rule when I was around thirty."

"That's quite an accomplishment. Max..." She squeezed his hand, readying him for another blow. "How many women have you _watched _ in your life?"

"What?" He really didn't want to talk about this. Not about other women. Not about numbers. Not about the beginnings.

"Every time we talk about the object of your affection, you talk about me. But there were obviously women before me. How many?"

"I don't remember the exact number," he mumbled.

"You pay so much attention to them but you don't remember the number? I don't believe that."

"I _watched_ seven on my own, eight with you, of course I remember that. But I don't remember the number before that."

"Before what? Before you were on your own...? Max, who was _watching_ with you?"

He opened his mouth but he found himself unable to say it out loud.

"Oh my god. Your grandfather," she connected the dots on her own. "You used to watch with your...? Your grandfather taught you to...? You know what, it's been a long interview, and I've been really tough on you. We should stop here and continue next time."

She jumped up and switched off the digital recorder. Max worried. Did this discovery change everything? Was she distancing herself from him because he scared her or did she just need time to reassess her test subject? She looked back at him and blew a big breath. Then she reached up and hugged him.

Was this goobye? He grabbed her and buried his face into her hair. No!

"I always knew August was a dirty bastard, but not to this extent. Why didn't you tell me sooner? Nevermind. Will you be able to talk about it next time?"

Oh thank God. He didn't know what to asnwer, but she wasn't leaving, she was there, hugging him and he had his nose full of her perfume and shampoo and her own scent...

"Yeah, I think," he said without thinking at all.

"Ok," she squeezed a little tighter and let go, gauging his face and trying to read his state of mind. She found his wet eyes.

"Ah, you scared me for a moment," he chuckled in embarrassment.

"Why?"

"Well, I asked you if you believed me at one point and you didn't answer, and then I told you about _this_, and now you were so quiet..."

"I do believe you. As much as I believe myself."

"Which means...?" He could tell there was a catch in there somewhere.

"I believe that you believe every word you say, just like I do when I'm honest. But what we're really capable of can differ from what we think we're capable of, don't you agree?"

"So you...don't really believe me," Max did the math.

"I guess no, because I don't believe anyone, not even myself," she slipped into self-analyzing again.

He remembered how she said that most psych majors had psychological issues.

"You don't believe anyone at all?"

"I'm a realist. I know that no matter how long I study psychology, I'll never be able to predict a person's behavior, not perfectly."

"But doesn't it feel like your life is full of insecurity when it comes to people? Don't you just want to hide?" Max asked. After all, that was his solution to the people problem.

"I hide enough," she commented on her stay-at-home schedule. "But I'd never isolate myself completely. People are a fascinating subject to observe, don't you think?"

He could never disagree with her on that.

**End of Part 2.**

**Author's Note**: A three-shot, then! I feel like I owe you some raunchy scenes, so those'll be in the third part.

Boring trivia about capitalization: I use "God" or "Lord" when it's Max's inner monologue and "god" when Danica's thinking it because the first believes in some sort of a higher power while the latter is an atheist and only uses the idioms for their sociolingusitic function.


End file.
